


An Even Greater Sunrise

by LadyKes



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, sansukh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 14:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2735627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKes/pseuds/LadyKes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if the afterlife was just the beginning for the Rohirrim as well?  Frerin/Eowyn and will make no sense if you haven't read Sansukh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Even Greater Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sansûkh](https://archiveofourown.org/works/855528) by [determamfidd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/determamfidd/pseuds/determamfidd). 



> Inspired by Determamfidd's lovely Sansukh, who has created an alternate universe for us all to play in.

She had never feared death. When she was very young, she did not know to fear death. Her life was pleasant and innocent, full of laughter and joy. As she grew older, as her parents died and her land darkened, she still did not fear death. Instead, she challenged it and trained to fight it.

Eventually, she wished for it, wished for the glory that it would bring and the honor she would provide to her king. She wished to stand by Théoden King or Lord Aragorn’s side in the war she knew her land could not avoid. Even after she saw the worst of death on the fields of the Pelennor, she did not fear it. She still wished to fight, wished to deal it, even while trapped in the Houses of Healing.

Faramir understood as no other had. He had nearly been dead himself, and she knew he also wished for death in his own way. It was that understanding that helped change her heart so that she would fight death rather than welcome it, heal rather than hurt. Her healing skills were soon known across Rohan, Gondor, and even the Dwarven Kingdoms. She would never allow death to win, never fear that it had entered a room and would not leave. Many lives were saved because she would not fear death.

And now it was time for her own. She had lived a long life. She had loved a good man, a man who sat by her side, white in his hair and wrinkles on his face, holding her hand but not pleading for her not to go. She had borne strong sons and daughters who had borne their own strong sons and daughters, all of whom were crowded by her couch. Lothiriel was there alone, for Éomer was waiting for his sister in the halls of their kin. Elfwine King was present as well, here to pay tribute to the long life and brave service of his aunt. There were representatives from the Elven and Dwarven kingdoms in the receiving chambers of Ithilien, but Gimli and Legolas had represented themselves and been welcomed. King Elessar and Queen Arwen had also attended her, though the king had insisted yet again that she simply call him Aragorn. 

She did not fear death, nor did she wish it, but it had come for her. As her eyes closed, she smiled at Faramir once more and waited to wake with her brother and uncle, her parents and her cousin -- all those who had gone before.

When her eyes opened, she found herself in Meduseld, but not Meduseld as it was. Rather it was Meduseld as it had never been, and it was glorious. She found herself younger, though not a child nor even a young woman, and somehow attired in a dress she had loved so much that it had been patched beyond repair before she had unwillingly surrendered it to the rag pile. Here she was surrounded by her kin once more, here they would greet her and welcome her rather than pay their respects at parting. Éomer and Théodred, Théoden King, her Lady Mother and her Lord Father, all surrounded her and embraced her with joy. 

It was a whirlwind of greetings and reunions, and it was not until much later that she realized that there was a small stream flowing through the bailey, a stream that had never been in the Meduseld that she knew. It was oft attended by her kin, though they did not draw water from it. When she asked Éomer about it, for he was ever her guide and ideal, he smiled and showed her how she could see those who did not sleep under the simbelmynë within the rushing water. Dangerous it was, to stare too long into the water and wish for things that were not, but she found herself watching Faramir, watching her children and her grandchildren care for him in his grief and age. She did not only watch them, though, for the stream showed what it wished, and at times it wished to show her Lord Aragorn or Lord Gimli, or sometimes even the holbytla she had grown so fond of. 

She watched Faramir go to be with his own forefathers and cried, for she would not see him again in life or in death. They did not believe that men walked with their kin after death in Gondor and she thought that might be kindest for him. He would like to see Boromir once more, but she would not have the peace of his death diminished by further dealings with Lord Denethor, as she thought they might be.

She watched many things, and it was one of these times that she noticed something different. There were Dwarrows within the stream, but not Dwarrows she ever knew and not Dwarrows as she had ever known them to appear. They seemed almost insubstantial, as if they were only shadows of themselves. There were many, and they followed Lord Gimli faithfully as he worked in the Glæmscrafu. Some of them had much to say for themselves while others merely watched as she watched. After some time, she began to learn their names as they addressed each other. She found herself growing quite fond of Kíli and Fíli, for they were full of mischief but also brave and true like Merry and Pippin. She was not entirely sure what she thought of Thorin, for he oft reminded her of Théoden King at his most regal, but she respected his efforts and the glimpses of humor she sometimes saw in him.

Her favorite, though, was the one they called Frerin. He seemed young and bright in all ways, even considering the slow aging of Dwarrows, and she wondered how he had become a shadow of himself so young. It seemed that these Dwarrows were in the halls of their own fathers, for she had seen Lord Gimli pay his respects to a tomb deep within a mountain, a tomb that had the names of Thorin, Kíli, and Fíli engraved upon it. 

Time did not pass in Meduseld-that-was-not as it had passed in her life, but she still found herself watching the stream often. The more she learned of the Dwarrows when they were shown to her, the more she appreciated them all. Glad she was that Éomer Éadig had given the Glæmscrafu to the Dwarrows, for they were formidable foes and an honorable people. 

As she watched Frerin, she found herself becoming more and more fond of him, though her mother warned her against such things. She was a shadow and he was a shadow, and two shadows would only ever be that. Over time, she began to think perhaps he also watched her. She spoke to the Dwarrows as many spoke to those they saw in the stream, and there were times when he seemed to answer her. It could not be, though, for Béma did not permit the crossing of the stream. It was absolute. Her mother had told her how she had pleaded with any who would hear her to be able to comfort Éowyn and Éomer in the weeks after they had been orphaned, and it pained Éowyn to hear of her mother’s fruitless tears. Still, though, she found herself watching Frerin, and she became more convinced that he did hear her and he did see her. 

After many years or perhaps none at all, a strange thing happened, but one that began so simply. She tripped and fell, no more, but when she put her hand out to break her fall, it landed on the streambed. She had been told that she must not touch the water, that it could never be drunk nor used to wash, that to do so would cause the stream to run dry and for all those in Meduseld-that-was-not to be unable to see their beloved kin. She did not doubt this, for the power that placed the stream could also take it away. At first, she jumped back from the stream as if it would run dry immediately, but it did not. She was glad to see that Lord Béma was not so rigid as to remove the stream because she tripped, but she avoided it all the same for some time. 

When she returned to the stream, she found herself watching Lord Gimli once more as he played with a tiny Dwarrow. Frerin was also there, and this time he turned to her even before she spoke.

“Welcome, Lady,” he greeted her warmly, and she jumped, peering into the stream to see if he addressed one of his own kin. It seemed he did not.

“I thank you, my lord,” she said hesitantly, and was startled further when he smiled before turning back to Lord Gimli once more. He did not address her again, but clearly he had known her to be there even before she had spoken.

So it began. He would greet her, she would reply, and that was the end of it. Soon enough, though, they were having whole conversations. She found his mind and his speech to be just as bright as he seemed, with youth and wisdom commingled. He had been dead many years, it seemed, and had developed into someone entirely different than he might have been if he had lived all his years. For his part, he also seemed glad to speak to her and tended to ask her opinion on matters large and small. She did not know what power allowed her to do this, to speak to him, but she was pleased to see it and to know Frerin.

Éomer worried. Her mother worried. All worried that she spent too long at the springs, but she knew she did not. She had seen those who did, and it did not bring them happiness. She would not wish that to happen to her or to Frerin, this Dwarrow that shone like the rising sun. When she did go to the spring, she did not always see Frerin, and she did not complain. 

Sleep was not the same here, but she had ever had strong dreams, and Frerin began to appear in them. Always he treated her with respect, and always he called her Lady, but she felt affection for him, and perhaps more. 

So her time with her kin and her Frerin continued until one day, Gimli sailed into the west with Legolas. She had thought that would be the end of her time with Frerin, for the stream only showed those to whom she had a connection. And for a time, it seemed that was true. She mourned the loss of Frerin’s company, but went to the stream all the same, watching her kin and the kin of those still living.

One day, though, a great procession arrived at the gates of Meduseld-that-was-not. Gimli and Legolas, Aragorn and Merry, all were present, and following behind them were a host of Elves, Dwarrows, and Hobbits. The whole of Meduseld-that-was-not was cast into confusion. How had this happened? What did it mean? They were in danger of being discourteous to their guests in their uncertainty until Helm Hammerhand stepped forward.

“I welcome you to Meduseld,” said he in the booming voice that had made all the Rohirrim follow without question. “I know not how nor why you have come, but the hospitality of the Riddermark and all its people is yours.”

A tall woman, cloaked in white and shining brighter than the sun, stepped forward.

“I thank you, Lord Hammerhand,” she said, and there were birdsongs in her voice. “I am Vána, companion of Béma, and I bring you greetings.”

All present fell to their knees at the Lady’s identity, but she motioned them upwards. 

“The world has changed, and though many things may not be altered, some may be. I bring a host of those who would greet the kin of Helm Hammerhand. We will stay seven days by my accounting and will then return to our own halls and lands.”

A great cacophony broke out at this, and Éowyn noticed that Lord Hammerhand gently led the Lady Vána away in the midst of it. She herself was engaged in greeting her friends, all of whom were changed in some way, but she did not fail to notice a small bright Dwarrow standing shyly at the back. 

After Éomer had dragged the three hunters into the hall for mead and everyone else had scattered with those they wished to see, she found herself in the bailey with Frerin alone. He was as bright and as small-yet-large as she had known he would be. 

“Welcome, Lord Frerin, to Meduseld,” she greeted him, and bent her head in courtesy. 

“I thank you, Lady Éowyn,” he replied with equal courtesy. “I am glad to have been chosen to make the journey. Long have I enjoyed our conversations.”

“As have I,” she said, feeling unaccountably shy and yet comfortable in his company.

“Will you show me your home?” he asked quietly. “I cannot show you mine, but I would see yours and know it when I have gone.”

“Of course, Lord Frerin,” she agreed, “where shall we begin? The stables would be my preference, but I know well the Dwarrows’ unease with horses.”

“Please, call me Frerin, if it be not offensive,” he requested. “For it seems strange to address you so formally after we have spoken so often.”

She smiled and then nodded. “It does seem so. And then you must call me Éowyn.”

He smiled himself, and his smile bid fair to outshine any well-polished tack. He was too short to offer his arm comfortably so instead he offered his hand, and hand in hand they began exploring Meduseld together. 

For seven days, she spent nearly all her waking time with Frerin. She worried that she had neglected her other friends, but all smiled indulgently or amusedly. Certainly amusedly, in the case of Gimli. 

She found Frerin to be just as bright in person as he had been in her dreams and in their discussions in the stream. She did not know how he found her, but suspected he felt somewhat similar, for she would catch him looking at her with an expression that heated her cheeks. By the reckoning of the Dwarrows, he was very young, far younger than she, but he had been a shadow of himself for so long that he had matured in mind, if not in body. 

She was still a shadow, and he was still a shadow, but for seven days by the Lady’s accounting, neither of them seemed to be. It seemed all too short in some ways and yet endlessly long in others, and she concluded that the rising of the sun and its going down again was not a good measure of the Lady’s days, for she was outside of time, even further outside than Meduseld-that-was-not. 

Finally, though, the Lady announced that the company would leave on the morrow, and all knew their time together had come to an end. Éowyn did not sleep that night, for she wished to spend all her remaining hours with Frerin, and he seemed to feel the same. They sat together on a bench in the hall holding hands and talked until they could not. Eventually she tired and he tired and they lay down together, chastely taking comfort in each other’s arms. 

In the morning, the company prepared for departure and Éowyn knew there were farewells and formalities to be offered. She wanted just one more moment with Frerin, though, so she took him to the barrows of her kin, where the simbelmynë always bloomed. Neither of them seemed to know how to begin, so they sat together in silence for a short time.

“I-” “You-” They both began in unison, and then stopped, and then laughed. Éowyn glanced down with reddening cheeks, then looked up again. 

“Please, speak, Frerin,” she invited, and he smiled.

“I have never known another like you, in life or in death,” he said softly. “Though I return to the halls of my kin and will likely not pass this way again, know that I will never forget you. I will never forget this time we have had.”

“Nor will I,” she said just as softly. “I did not fear my death, for I had lived long and well, but I could never have imagined that such things as these would happen after it. I could never have imagined you.”

His face softened and brightened in a way that she could not describe and he leaned in to brush a soft kiss across her lips.

“Dwarrows love only once,” he said almost hesitantly. “I never found my One in life. But I think I have found her in death, and I thank Mahal for this gift.”

“I thank the lord Béma and the lady Vána as well, for they are generous to their children,” Éowyn agreed. “They have allowed me to love twice. Once in life and once in death.”

She knew Frerin would not be offended by such a statement, for he knew well how much she had loved Faramir. Indeed he was not, and he brushed another kiss over her lips in response. 

They could not stay further without notice, but she felt they had said what was needful, and so hand in hand they walked back to the bailey where all were gathered. Immediately they were swept up in the preparations for departure and could not speak again. 

As the company departed, though, Frerin darted between the crowds and placed a small package in her hand.

“Open it when I am gone, my murkhînh,” he said, and kissed her hand lingeringly before returning to his kin. Obediently she tucked the package into her pocket and helped send the company away, waving through tears as she did.

When all had departed, the bailey felt overfull and overempty at once, so she took herself off to the stables. Once inside the warm stalls, she opened the package to find a small silver bead with a blue topaz on each facet. Before her death, she would have known little about what this was, but now she knew immediately that it signified love and commitment. This was the bead Frerin would have given a One in life, though he must have forged it in death. He must have forged it for her. She plaited a Rohirric pattern into her hair and then clasped the bead at the end of it before beginning her chores in the stable.

No, she did not fear death. She had never feared it. And she never would, for it had brought her more than it had ever taken from her.

**Author's Note:**

> murkhînh - shield woman
> 
> The title is from a quote by Nabokov: "Life is a great sunrise. I do not see why death should not be an even greater one."


End file.
